


just like one of your japanese animes~

by hollerlujah (Choo)



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, PWP, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, i just wanted to write porn ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Choo/pseuds/hollerlujah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet and take a dick.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like one of your japanese animes~

**Author's Note:**

> i blame/thank caz for this
> 
> i'm sorry, mostly

“Are you sure you want to try it?”

Dillon and Anton are sprawled out across the hotel bed, Porter sitting on his knees self-consciously. He can feel himself blushing to his ears and doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods. The others grin and reach for him almost simultaneously.

“We’ll have to set up a safeword for you,” Anton says conversationally as he and Dillon lay him out on the bed. “You cry too easily and I don’t want to stop every couple of minutes if you don’t need us to.”

Porter glares at him indignantly, opening his mouth to protest, but Anton is yanking off his jeans and underwear and settling a pillow under his hips. Dillon shuffles up behind him and pulls his head into his lap, running a hand through his hair. He swallows heavily.

“Is it really going to hurt that much?”

Anton stops gliding his palms up Porter’s legs long enough to look vaguely offended. “What do you think I am, some kind of amateur?” Dillon cackles from the head of the bed. 

“We’ll take care of you,” Dillon promises through his snickers. “What do you want your word to be? Ohh, how about ‘Dillon is the best’?”

Porter looks up at Dillon, gaze deadpan. “I don’t know dude,” he trails off as Anton starts rubbing deft fingers into the soft flesh next to his hipbone. Somehow through the haze of embarrassment he’s gotten half hard and he can feel his face get warm.

“My first safeword was ‘lawnmower’, you can use that,” says Anton, reaching into his bag to pull out a bottle of lube. 

“What is that in German?” Dillon asks, unfazed, scratching lightly at Porter’s scalp. 

“Rasenmäher.”

Dillon laughs, “We can stick to English.”

Then they both look at him, faces serious. “Really, though, if you need to stop at any time you can just tell us,” says Anton. Dillon hums in agreement above him and Porter nods slowly. “I’m gonna start now.”

Anton pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and closes his fist to warm it. Porter’s fully hard now, dick resting heavily against his belly, and Anton presses his dry palm to it, smiling.

The first nudge against his hole startles him a little and he turns away to hide his face in Dillon’s calf. Anton’s finger is slippery-soft against him. He peeks out to see Anton bending to place a kiss to the junction of his thigh and pelvis. 

Porter sighs, body relaxing, and Anton pushes his finger in to the last knuckle. It feels foreign and strange and Porter squirms a little until Dillon crowds over him to kiss him on the mouth. Dillon’s fingers trail down his neck and Anton’s nails dig into his thigh and this time he whimpers against Dillon’s lips when Anton crooks his finger inside of him. 

“How does it feel?” Dillon murmurs, nosing into his cheek.

He shrugs, shuddering as Anton’s finger draws in and out of him slowly. “Weird,” he replies finally. 

Anton puffs out a laugh and rubs a knuckle against the edge of Porter’s hole. “Think you can take another?”

He mumbles an affirmative and glances away again. Dillon’s shifted them forward, propping Porter up so he can press a series of open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck. He can feel himself flush under the attention. Anton presses a second finger into him. Dillon’s teeth scrape against his jaw and he groans, low in his throat. The stretch doesn’t hurt, not really; there’s a slight burn, a feeling of fullness. 

He can feel Anton’s eyes on him but can’t bring himself to look. He twists his head around to meet Dillon’s mouth and kisses him messily.

“Jesus, you two,” Anton says lowly. 

Dillon laughs softly into his mouth and gives his hair a gentle tug; another needy sound bubbles up in his chest. He can feel Anton’s fingers scissoring inside him, can feel them crooking forward -

Sparks explode behind his eyelids when Anton brushes against his prostate and he clutches the bed sheets with one hand, the other reaching blindly for Dillon’s face. His teeth sink into the soft flesh of Dillon’s lower lip. He can hear Anton’s pleased laughter from between his legs; Dillon clutching at his hair and groaning at the sudden pain.

He chokes back a plea, tilting his face to muffle himself in Dillon’s neck. Anton looks up at him, smirking, and digs his fingers deep inside him once more. Porter clings to Dillon’s shoulder; “Please,” he whimpers, muted.

He can feel Dillon turn toward Anton, can only imagine the expressions on their faces. The snap of the lube bottle is shockingly loud and he jolts as a cold trickle hits the sensitive skin around his hole. His fingers curl into Dillon’s hair tightly when Anton adds a third finger.

There’s actual pain now and he can can feel tears welling up behind his eyelids, but it’s bearable; the crying won’t stop but the stretch is a satisfying burn inside him. Dillon’s thumb is ghosting across his collarbone, cool lips pressing into his temple. Heavy tears drip from the side of his nose and into Dillon’s lap.

“You okay, baby?” Dillon coos, stroking the side of his face. “No lawnmower?” Porter grunts determinedly in reply. Anton laughs and twists his fingers in him, nudging his prostate again; it takes the edge off. 

Anton’s fingers push in and out of him, slow and easy, and he can't help the tiny squeaks of pleasure escaping his lips. Dillon is brushing tears from his cheeks. His cock is leaking stickily onto his skin; tension is building in his groin, unfurling hot into his stomach as he’s pushed toward the edge.

“Anton, I'm…” his voice breaks. Anton strokes deftly against his prostate again and he comes, untouched. 

Porter groans long through his teeth and Dillon's mumbled “holy shit,” registers somewhere in the haze of his orgasm. He can feel Anton spread his fingers in him a couple more times and then plant a kiss on his stomach. 

“Fuck,” Anton murmurs, pulling his fingers out of him delicately. Porter jerks and moans. 

Dillon shifts around behind him, moving his legs out from under his head. “Porter,” he says, and god, he sounds wrecked. “Porter, can I fuck you?” 

Porter feels his dick twitch with vague interest and he huffs out a breathy, “yes.” 

“Fuck,” Anton says again, moving to switch places with Dillon. 

Dillon tugs on Porter’s hip; “turn over,” he says tightly, and Porter does with a groan. The come drying on his stomach is sticky against the mattress but he can't bring himself to care. He lifts his ass when Dillon tugs him up, groans loudly into the blanket when Dillon’s tongue dips into his hole. 

“Dillon, fuck,” Porter breathes. Anton’s stretching out next to him, fingers of one hand tangling in his hair and gripping tightly. He can hear the rough sound of Dillon’s fly coming open, his other hand gripping Porter’s ass while his tongue laves over him. Porter keens, overwhelmed. “Dillon, _please_.”

“Yeah, shit.” The warmth of Dillon’s tongue disappears and he hears the bottle of lube click open again. There’s a blunt pressure as Dillon’s cock nudges against him and he clutches at the sheets as Dillon starts to press in.

The tears start again and Porter sobs into the mattress. Anton pulls his head up forcefully and kisses him, deep and thorough. Dillon’s dick is stretching him, so much bigger than Anton’s fingers. He chokes out a moan and Anton swallows it down, tongue licking into his mouth.

He can hear Dillon hissing as he bottoms out and he has to turn his face away from Anton’s to pant heavily. Anton licks the fresh tears from his cheeks. “So lovely, Schatz,” he whispers, kissing Porter’s eyelids. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Jesus,” nails bite into Porter’s hips as Dillon starts thrusting shallowly into him. The burn is almost unbearable, but he feels so full, so satisfied. 

Lips press against the tension between his eyebrows and Anton tugs on his hair again. Porter feels the warmth against his side move away. “Up.” Anton says and shuffles up to kneel in front of him. He opens his eyes and pushes himself up weakly on his elbows; Anton is pulling his dick out of his pants and Porter groans in anticipation. 

He digs his nails into Anton's knee, trying to steady himself as Dillon’s hips stutter against his ass. Porter mouths at the head of Anton's dick, nearly gagging when he tries to swallow it down too fast. He falls into a rhythm, bobbing his head in a counter-beat to Dillon fucking him. Anton strokes his hair tenderly. 

“Look at me,” he murmurs, staring down at him. Porter looks up, and he can feel tears leaking from his eyes as Anton’s dick hits the back of his throat. “So good for us, baby, so beautiful.” Porter moans, muffled, around Anton.

He can feel his dick bobbing below him as Dillon’s hips snap into him; somehow he's gotten hard again, the fullness becoming overwhelming. He gags around Anton’s dick and screws his eyes shut, more tears dribbling down his face. 

Dillon is bent over him now, chest pressed against his back, and he can feel breath puffing against his shoulder blades. There's a dizzying pleasure building in his stomach again and Dillon is groaning hoarsely, “I'm gonna come,” into his skin, “Porter, I'm gonna come, fuck.”

Porter moans long and high, pulling away from Anton's dick. “Come in me,” he pleads hoarsely, and Dillon does with an enthusiastic grunt and a messy bite to the meat of his shoulder. He can feel Dillon’s dick pulsing in him and the pressure pushes him over the edge again, spurting weakly into the sheets. He buries his face in Anton's thigh, fingers curling against solid muscle and linking through Anton's belt loop. Warmth drips down his shoulder and he realizes hazily that he’s bleeding.

“Jesus, Porter, I’m sorry-,” Dillon starts to apologize, until Porter twists up to pull Dillon into a desperate kiss. The bite stings where it presses against Dillon’s chest and Porter lets out a breathy sigh.

“ _Fuck_ ,” says Anton, for a third time. Porter can taste the metallic tang of his own blood on Dillon’s lips. He winces when Dillon pulls out and sits him up, and he can feel come leaking down his thigh. Anton is staring into his eyes like he’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen as he shucks his own pants off.

He slips his arms around Anton’s neck as he’s pulled into the other boy’s lap. “Good for one more?” Anton whispers in his ear and he groans, eyes rolling back as Anton’s dick pushes into him. 

Porter clutches at Anton as he rolls his hips up into him slowly. He lets out little involuntary sobs with every thrust and his head is lolling on his neck. He vaguely registers Dillon’s weight leaving the bed and tries to turn his head to look, but Anton grabs him around the back of the neck and kisses him soundly. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” Anton says, eyes dark when he pulls away to look at him. Porter can only bring himself to whimper in response; he’s over-sensitized and the pull of Anton’s cock in his ass is almost too much. There’s blood oozing slowly from the bite on his shoulder and Anton licks at it, predatory. Somehow, impossibly, he’s hard again. Dillon, from across the room, makes an impressed sound.

He does his best to follow Anton’s rhythm, thighs quivering as he lifts and lowers himself shakily, until Anton growls and pushes them both over. Anton fucks into him viciously, hands around Porter’s wrists, and he can hear himself sobbing as if from far away. 

Anton lets go of his wrist and gets one hand around his dick, and he’s shocked to feel that familiar heat build again. He reaches down with his free hand and digs his nails into Anton’s back as he comes once more with a scream. Anton follows closely behind, groaning into Porter’s throat as he spills warm inside him.

Porter lays there, dazed, and Dillon comes back over to the bed a moment later with one hand behind his back.

“Holy fucking shit, you guys,”

Anton starts laughing into Porter’s chest and Porter flails one arm out to slap at Dillon’s hip. He crawls back into bed with them and Porter shuffles around until he’s tucked snugly between the two other bodies. He’s so tired; he can hear Anton and Dillon murmuring quietly over his head but he’s too exhausted to care, and it’s not long before he dozes off with his nose in Anton’s neck and Dillon curved warm against his back.

* * *

Across an ocean, Hugo scrolls idly through his Twitter. His phone chirps a new picture message notification from Dillon. He opens it and his heart clenches with want, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Porter with blood running down his back, riding Anton like he was made for it.

Anton pressing Porter into the mattress, Porter’s legs up around his hips.

Anton and Dillon smiling up at the camera, a sleeping Porter between them.

_jealous?_ says the message.

Hugo snorts and texts back; _Thoroughly looking forward to seeing you all like this when I’m back._

_;)_


End file.
